


Alpha's Favourite

by blueberrynoahboi (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Greg Lestrade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta John Watson, Insecure Mycroft, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, Jealous Mycroft, Jealousy, M/M, Omega Mycroft Holmes, Omega Sherlock, Pack Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/blueberrynoahboi
Summary: Greg Lestrade is a powerful Alpha, and a wealthy lord.He loves Mycroft, the elder omega son of the Holmes family, brilliant and bright. But once the deal is struck to purchase Mycroft, Mummy Holmes attaches the deed of her second son, the young and beautiful Sherlock.Jealousy is a dangerous creature.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	1. prolouge

The air was warm, soft and hazy as Mycroft lie on the grass, his neck tickled with the rough little blades. He itched at it, his eyes locked on the sweeping and blowing tree branches. Two little apple blossoms that bloomed, ruffling their pale white petals in the breeze, before one plucked itself away, floating to rest on the ground.

"Have you spoken to Father?" He said softly, looking up to the man that sat beside him, his hair dark and soft, his skin golden in that rough way of Alphas.

"Not yet," He answered, hand grazing across Mycroft's pale freckled cheek, tucking in a ginger lock of hair and leaning down to kiss, his lips warm and firm and his breath fogging on the omega's nose. Mycroft giggled to himself, pulling himself up and tucking his nose into Greg's neck, the Alpha chuckling in response, his chest vibrating like a baritone note on a cello through Mycroft's body as he crawled into his lap, their foreheads touching and his eyes pressed closed.

"Gone off of me, sir?" Mycroft widened his eyes.

"Don't be daft," Greg laughed, pulling Mycroft in for a deep kiss, thumbs brushing his ears. "I'll talk to 'im tomorrow if you want me to," Mycroft smiled to himself, his tummy tight with a crowd of butterflies so tight one of them was likely to asphyxiate. 

"Tomorrow might not be the best day,"

"Oh?"

"Sherlock comes home from school tomorrow,"

"Oh," Greg nodded, petting Mycroft's neck, the omega almost purring at the touch.

"It's not that he's- well, you know," Mycroft said sadly, "He doesn't believe in doing things properly,"

"Nothing wrong with that, you know," Greg teased, poking Mycroft's side and the ginger curled in at the contact, his stomach dropping for some horrible reason he couldn't understand, pressing himself tighter to Greg's neck, nostrils flaring at the warmth and cinnamon scent.

"Do you want me to be, less proper?" Mycroft whispered, his voice wobbling.

"Come off it, Mycroft, you know I love you, propriety and all," Greg grinned and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "Yes, tomorrow it is,"

"If you'd like, sir," He said softly, eyes pressed closed, soaking up the sunshine that was Gregory Lestrade. 


	2. Chapter 2

The term was over and Sherlock was very much bored with humanity. So inherently against their nature to make themselves within boundaries. Upper class, middle class, lower class. Male, female. Alpha, Beta, omega. 

Older, younger.

Mycroft was the good one. He sat still. He held his tongue when he ought to. He read the right books, and said the right things about them. The only thing he'd lacked was beauty. Mother knew it. That was why he'd been sent to grammar school, and the only omega university in England. How Sherlock loathed that. _Why do you want to go to school like your brother Sherlock? You're so pretty!_

Mycroft lacked the natural charm and grace that Sherlock seemed to have in spades- there'd been talk of ballet lessons, until Mummy shut that down very decisively- _you're not a whore, Sherlock!_ Classically trained or not, Sherlock would always be delicate, refined, a son of Diana- all soft supple moon-pale skin and soft midnight curls, eyes a thousands shades of pale blue. A strange, ethereal beauty that left very little room for people to listen to him. 

Nobody listened to a painting. 

But his brother? Mycroft was gawky. Too much of this, not enough of that. _Red_ hair. Plain pale eyes. A bit of a problem with cake. But Sherlock thought he was decent enough- he might not like to admit it, but Mycroft was far more intelligent and well-mannered than he'd ever be. He seemed to understand the _why_ , where Sherlock could only see _what_ and _how_.

Mycroft might have made Mummy proud, but he was not the favourite. 

Sherlock was always the favourite. 

"Hello, brother mine," Mycroft grinned, the library door clicking open as he poked his head in and chided his baby brother, who lay sprawled out on the settee in his omega's school uniform (tie quite gone and socks rumpled around his shins) still looking like a figure of Roman antiquity. "New school?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw the book he'd been half reading to the ground and pressing his palms to his eyes. 

"I do not see why they do not like me! I'm so much more intelligent than the halfwits that attend that dreadful excuse for a school!"

"Finishing school teaches you to be a good mate, Sherlock, how to be a host, how to hold your knife," Mycroft gave him a cheeky smile, "dreadful I must concur,"

Sherlock scoffed and looked at Mycroft with more scrutiny.

"Was the hunt successful?"

"It's not game season, Sherlock,"

"Not the hunt I was referring to,"

Mycroft bit his cheek nervously, bouncing on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets.

"He's talking to Father now,"

"My condolences," Sherlock scoffed, his tummy twisting. Mycroft...married? Mycroft, gone to have babies in some cold house somewhere far away with _someone_.

"It's, Mr. Lestrade," Sherlock raised his eyebrow and looked into the crackling fire, his eyes glowed on the flames that licked the kindling and brought everything they was fed to ashes. 

"Impressive, brother dear, I must say," Sherock said stiffly, sitting on his hands, shoulders hunched forward, his back cold and his cheeks warming from the fire. "you must be pleased with yourself,"

"Thank you,"

Silence.

"You know, we won't change, you and I," Mycroft said, gaze joining Sherlock's on the fireplace. "Blood is thicker than water,"

"I don't mind," Sherlock said softly and they watched the flames crackle for a quiet moment.

"Mummy will want you married soon as well,"

"I'm _fourteen_ , Mycroft," Sherlock spat, "You're twenty!"

"Yes, but you're not like me are you?"

Sherlock, paused, rubbing at the back of his hand, "I suppose not," Indeed, it would be better in Father's eyes to marry Sherlock off now, when he was innocent-looking and soft, when testiness and strong character in an omega where considered a quirky personality trait. An unbroken horse to be tamed.

Mycroft looked his brother over before turning, the door closing behind him with a brush of cold wind upon Sherlock's face. His brother was too beautiful to be left where any prospective mates could see him, he knew all too well. 

* * *

I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, you misunderstand me entirely, I'm not interested in your younger son," Greg sputtered, holding his whiskey and staring at the elder Alpha, who leisurely puffed his cigar. 

"It's a package deal son, don't fret" He said cooly and the young Mr. Lestrade was at a loss. _Sherlock._ Two mates at once? Was that even legal? "Your pack will have a strong start, you have a bright future- your house will grow, surely you never planned to only have Mycroft?"

Greg bit his lip. He hadn't thought of it. 

"But- I- you must want Sherlock do be someone's wife, not just my second mate," Siger sighed and looked at his cigar as if it held the answers to the universe. 

"My dear boy, you're too gentlemanly for your own good. Wife, second mate, third mate, it's all arbitrary. Mycroft is- well, he'll be a competent runner of your house. A powerful partner, not unlike my Violet," Greg nodded along, still a bit in shock, "But, an Alpha can never be satisfied with that, and he won't look good on your arm at functions. Sherlock will round out the rough edges, and increase your chances of a good breed, as well as, adding incentive for Mycroft to fufil his duties,"

"SIr, this is wrong, I'd- I couldn't do that to him, Myc's not- I'm not-"

"I'm sorry, my dear boy, it's two Holmes or none."


	3. Chapter 3

It would have been fine if Mycroft hadn't began to skip his heats. 

Sherlock was sent back to school with two new silver engangement cuffs around his wrists, engraved with a G.L. Father had protested, but Greg had insisted. Sherlock was 14. He wasn't done with his education and to be perfectly honest, had no interest in claiming him. Perhaps he could find Sherlock a husband in the meantime, and then the whole matter would be settled. 

The news that him and his brother were a "package deal" left Mycroft with a horrible ache inside of him that could only be fed through sweets in the dark of night.

Eat. 

Purge.

Eat. 

Purge. 

Such things were no good for any body, no less the body of an omega on the decline of his prime. Things were begining to be irregular. 

"Sir, I- please, just give me another month, it must be the weather, I promise," Mycroft had begged in the cool of the night, huddled close to Greg's side, whispering pleas into his neck. The alpha only nodded, sighing and thumbing across the dark bond bite that had yet to heal. 

Three heats. No pregnancies. 

"Darling, I don't mind, really, they'll come soon enough, your nest will be so full you'll be pushing me away, I promise, love, have patience," Greg would say. 

Greg couldn't make such promises. Mycroft knew that if he knew anything. 

"What if-" Mycroft whimpered, "what if I never can do it?"

"Don't speak like that, darling," Greg wrapped a second arm across his omega, lapping at his scent gland and nuzzling at his chin. "There's no proof that you're not fully functioning, perhaps it's me,"

Mycroft knew that it couldn't possibly be Gregory. 

"I love you for you, Mycie, even if it was only you and me till the end of our days, I will always love you, darling,"

Mycroft smiled tenderly, nuzzling back, before his gut began to sink. 

Because they weren't alone, it wasn't him and Gregory for the end of their days. Someone else wore Gregory's cuffs as well. 

Someone who would be home for his heat leave in two weeks. 


End file.
